you’d already been half an hour with pre-clubbing shower and i’d always planned to have a look in your special winnie the pooh book. the place was marked and it was there in blue and white – it said simply, “paul stayed last night” next i was on the bog and you got down on one knee. you were protesting your innocence and you started to cry as i started to pee.

you said, “i didn’t sh*g him, he slept on the couch in the kitchen. he might as well be a girl. he’s a good for a laugh and he’s good for b*tchin”

you said you’d never be willing or able. and he looks like he was made on a f*cking table. although, to be fair, i think he hides the bolts quite well, but as soon as he opens his mouth you can just tell. i had just *ssumed you’d completely gone off sh*gging and i can you seen you with your new uni pals, standing bragging. now he’s your boyfriend and i know you were talking sh*te but you still deny it when i met you at someone’s birthday party the other night.

you said, “i didn’t sh*g him, he slept on the couch in the kitchen. it’s just like one of the girls. we have a good laugh when we’re sitting b*tchin'”

the words that you used to think turned me on just made me laugh – “do you want to suck my c*nt?” in real life just sounds naff. and when we were with your friends i just as well might of been no one. and you can’t get over your dead dog – well it takes one to know one.